JANUARY
THE ASSISTANT MASTER
My father was right; the master was in a bad humor because he was not well; for the last three days, in fact, the assistant has been coming in his stead,—that little man, without a beard, who looks like a boy.
A shameful thing happened this morning. There had been an uproar on the first and second days, in the school, because the assistant is very patient and does nothing but say. “Be quiet, be quiet, I beg of you.” But this morning they passed all bounds. Such a noise arose, that his words were no longer audible, and he admonished and besought; but it was a mere waste of breath. Twice the principal appeared at the door and looked in; but the moment he went away the murmur increased as in a market. It was in vain that Derossi and Garrone turned round and made signs to the fellows to be good,—that it was a shame. No one paid any heed to them. Stardi alone remained quiet, with his elbows on the bench, and his fists to his temples, thinking, perhaps, about his famous library; and Garoffi, he of the hooked nose and the postage-stamps, who was wholly occupied in making a catalogue of the subscribers at two centesimi each, for a lottery for a pocket inkstand. The rest chattered and laughed, pounded on the points of pens fixed in
85
